I Climbed a Mighty Monolith
By Awake! correspondent in Australia
FAR surpassing all I had read and the countless pictures I had seen, there it stood, majestically, in all its splendor, in the halo of the setting sun. These were the few minutes we had waited for. As we watched spellbound, the massive bulk quietly turned a delicate pink, then a rich purple, and finally a deep red. This was the color I especially wanted. Click went my camera for the last time.
Around me hundreds of other cameras clicked as excited people from many parts of the world ended their vigil that evening and captured a scene that knows few parallels. For we were at Ayers Rock—the world’s most famous monolith, or single rock formation—situated at the geographical center of Australia. Yes, I was finally seeing firsthand this awe-inspiring handiwork of God.
Why So Spectacular?
John Ross, in his book Beautiful Australia In Colour, describes Ayers Rock as “the supreme tourist attraction in a country full of them, a life sustaining force in an ancient and barren land.”
Of course, the immense size of Ayers Rock is spectacular in itself, but the changing colors are what bring sighs and gasps to sightseers’ lips. This monolithic sandstone giant rises 1,143 feet [348 m] above the desert floor, stretches in length for two and a quarter miles [3.6 km] and is one and a quarter miles [2 km] wide. As if the kaleidoscope of color caused by the changing position of the sun is not enough, another breathtaking sight is the brilliant silver sheen that bathes the monolith after a sudden desert downpour.
The Rock is located 290 miles southwest of central Australia’s main city, Alice Springs. It got its name from one of South Australia’s chief secretaries, Sir Henry Ayers, but has been known to the Australian Aboriginal people for centuries as Uluru, the meaning of which is now uncertain.
The Urge to Climb
All who see Ayers Rock for the first time seem to get an irrepressible urge to examine the intriguing phenomenon at close quarters. Some can afford to do this from the air, while others circumnavigate the base by car—a distance of about six miles [10 km]. In my case, it was a must to climb it. Would you like to come with me?
The shape of what we are to climb is best likened to the round back of a sleeping hippopotamus. We commence our climb about two thirds of the way along the hippo’s body from his tail. Notice the series of posts cut into the rock face, with a chain attached for us to grasp as we climb. We are glad of that, for the path is just a narrow ridge with the rock face falling away on both sides. Apparently many an unwary or overconfident climber ignored this chain, inviting disaster. Now we remember more vividly the plaque our guide showed us as we began our climb. It listed the most recent fatal falls, involving people from several countries. Sudden wind blasts are the danger. Without warning, these gusts can send a climber reeling. So hold on to the chain. It might mean your life!
Like most inexperienced climbers, we commence with a flourish of enthusiasm that lasts about ten minutes but soon settle down to a slow, steady, uphill plod. Before long, our tourist coach down below looks quite tiny. Twenty minutes into the climb, it is obvious that we are not in as good physical shape as we might be. We feel the need for periodic pauses. But what awe-inspiring views there are to compensate for these rest breaks as we take in the panorama that stretches steadily wider as we ascend! To our left loom the gigantic Olgas, a cluster of massive rocks that seem to have been bunched together by some giant hand. The tallest of these is Mount Olga, which rises 1,790 feet [546 m] above the valley floor. Then, as our eyes sweep to the right, we see the multimillion-dollar tourist hotel and complex in the distance, served by a busy tourist-inspired airport. Beyond this and as far as the eye can see is flat, featureless desert, so characteristic of the outback center of Australia.
I remember standing beside our coach and gazing upward at what seemed like hundreds of busy ants coming and going from some nest in the ground to a food supply on the summit. This must be what we now look like from the ground.
Will We Make It?
On up we go, ever upward. Why do our calf muscles ache so? We soon forget them as we are intrigued by the tiny pools of water in the rock face. Why, each pool has living organisms swimming in it—small shield shrimps! But that is the only life there is on the otherwise massive, arid, nude rock face.
What’s that our guide is saying? We are now halfway up. Is that all? Oh, well, at least the steepest part is now over, and the safety chain is no longer needed. From here on, the climb is more gradual, with just a painted centerline to mark out our path. We wind among obstacles, up and down smaller curves in the rock face. We begin to wonder whether we will ever reach the summit.
But suddenly we are there. Now we can see over the top of the Rock and down the other side. More rewarding scenes. Constant changes of contour, with a sculptured appearance of fantastic designs. Here at the summit, we find a cairn, a directional indicator, and a place for our signature, indicating that we have made it to the top.
What About the Descent?
But what about getting back down? Like most people, I assumed that the walk down would be just a stroll, simply a matter of letting gravity propel me down with little or no effort. How wrong I was! A few minutes into our descent and I notice how those calf muscles now seem to cry out for relief. Each step seems more painful than the last. Quite a few rest stops later, we eventually reach the bottom.
And then it seems a herculean effort to walk the short, flat distance to the coach. But we finally make it, and so here we are, looking upward again at this desert giant, with scores of human “ants” still scurrying up and down its amazing surface.
It has been exciting and fascinating to be so close to another wonder of God’s endless creations. It has been physically tiring but so mentally and emotionally stimulating. Speaking for myself, I cannot repress a small prayer of thanks to Jehovah for my having the strength at 61 years of age to climb the world’s most famous monolith.
[Map on page 14]
(For fully formatted text, see publication)
Australia
Alice Springs
[Picture on page 15]
The steep climb up Ayers Rock